Reminiscent
by Bookworm Kate
Summary: Foyle's War - Takes place sometime after "The Hide" in Season 7. Sam stumbles across Andrew Foyle again. What will this mean for her future with Adam, and what does it make of her past? Andrew/Sam with hints of Foyle/Sam .
1. Chapter 1

"Reminiscent"

A/N: Takes place sometime after "The Hide." Sam stumbles across Andrew Foyle again. What will this mean for her future with Adam, and what does it make of her past? Andrew/Sam (with hints of Foyle/Sam).

* * *

The late September afternoon whistled around Sam Stewart as she walked through the village, the shopping bag she carried bumping gently against her leg in time with her step. She paused, pulling her cardigan more tightly around her shoulders. Looking at the street that curved away to the left, she swallowed hard, trying to make up her mind. She gripped her bag and looked around her. No one was paying attention to the young woman standing on the pavement. Adam was away in London, so she had the whole day to herself. It was this, and the fact that she was standing so close to a once familiar street, that she determinedly turned to the left.

"Why not?" Sam thought, reasoning with herself, "Why shouldn't I walk past and make sure it looks alright?" Her stomach flopped in anticipation as the house on Steep Lane came into sight. Memories of driving Foyle to and fro, and of the time she had stayed in his back room came bubbling up to the surface of her mind. Even in the midst of war, those moments remained happy. It was the sense of purpose and of being a part of something larger that was so exciting when she looked back on her war years.

First, it was the War Effort that needed her, but then it became, or so she had felt, that Foyle needed her. She missed calling at Steep Lane now and then since he had left for America. She and Adam had received a lovely postcard from him not long ago, and she had put it on a bookshelf in the lounge so she could see it everyday. It was then she had realized how much a part of her life Foyle actually was, as well as how important he was to her – they had been through a lot together.

Looking up at the house now, taking in every detail and remembering those first days of working for Foyle, she sighed. Her chest felt very heavy and her mind whirled, unsure and contemplative. She loved this house – not just because it belonged to Foyle, but also because it had stayed unchanged and familiar. It was a constant – not unlike Foyle himself – in the midst of a world that was changing rapidly.

Suddenly, a movement past the lounge window caught her eye, and she gasped, her heart leaping, wondering if Foyle was home already. Then, thinking this unlikely, her mind went to burglars. The look on Sam's face must have been quite comical, because when Andrew Foyle opened the door all he could do was laugh. He walked down the steps towards her, flashing his warm smile. Sam recovered quickly, and cried, "Andrew!"

"Hallo, Sam!"

Mindful of the neighbors, he took her free hand and pressed it between his own, grinning happily at her. She laughed in amazement at seeing him, feeling pleased. "Come in for tea, Sam," said Andrew, "I expect you're starving."

She smiled at him, "Lovely!" He took her shopping bag and led the way back up the steps.

"I was just about to make a pot," Andrew said over his shoulder as he moved towards the kitchen. "Do come in and make yourself at home."

Sam followed him, looking around at the house, glad to see everything in its place as usual. It was like Foyle had never left, which gave her some comfort.

"Andrew, what are you doing back in Hastings?" Sam asked, coming into the kitchen.

He pulled two teacups from a cupboard and sighed, "Well, what I was doing in London didn't work out, so I thought I would come back here for a few weeks and figure out something."

"You aren't moping, I hope," said Sam with a smile.

Andrew laughed, remembering when they first had come to know each other, so many years ago. "No, I've been quite busy really," he said, making the tea, "I've been changing the attic into a workstation. More likely it will be a place where I stare out of the window for hours on end instead of writing, but there we are."

Watching him go through the motions of making tea, Sam thought how more impatient his movements were, whereas his father always moved methodically. This thought was pushed away as Andrew passed her a plate of scones and a pot of jam. "I say, Andrew! These look lovely – did you make them?" exclaimed Sam, looking at the plate as if she hadn't eaten in days.

"No, I bought them this morning." Andrew turned again, this time with the teapot in hand. He sat across from her, "Shall I pour?"

Sam nodded, already heaping jam onto her scone. "Why didn't London work out?" she asked casually.

Andrew paused, then said slowly, "Well, there was this girl…"

Sam laughed, but not unkindly. He grinned sheepishly at her from the other side of the teapot, "Yes, well…But in all truth, Sam, London isn't really for me. It's too busy, and noisy, and not all conducive for writing. Half the time I was away from London with friends anyway. They all seem to have families who live in the country, so we would escape most weekends. I was constantly being distracted – there are so many places to go and have a good time. But I was soon running out of money and then the girl I was walking out with left me for a chap who sells drapes or something equally boring, so I said to myself, why not come back home and think things through a bit."

"Well, it was very sensible of you, Andrew. Does your father know you are here?"

"Yes, I wrote to him, though I haven't a clue if he's actually received it or not." Andrew leaned forward, grinning, "Can you imagine Dad in America? I thought he'd gone mad when he called me up to tell me! _Unfinished business_ – gosh, he made it sound so grim. Wouldn't say a word about it, of course."

Sam nodded, her mouth full. As he'd been talking she had observed him, curious to see if he looked different. He wore a light blue shirt, nice and fresh looking, which brought out the color in his eyes. The sleeves were rolled to his elbows and suspenders hung limply at his waist. No matter what he wore, or how he wore it, Andrew always looked tidy, yet cheeky. She noticed that his hair was longer, falling over his forehead at random, enhancing the mischievous look Sam liked about him. She found herself appreciating the curve of his shoulders under the thin shirt, and wondered slightly at her thoughts. It wasn't as if Adam wasn't good looking – he was very handsome. "But Andrew will always be different and special in my eyes," Sam reasoned with herself, "He was my first love, and I suppose that must count for something."

Unbeknownst to Sam, Andrew was doing the same thing, appraising her as he talked. He missed her long, curling tresses. It was strange to see Sam after so long. He always thought he would be a bit embarrassed to see her after suggesting marriage in such a haphazard way, but was pleased to feel easy companionship with Sam instead. It was nice to see the ruddy glow in her cheeks was still there, as well as the laughter in her eyes. If it was possible, he found her more radiant than ever, and felt slightly giddy. The new clothes she wore suited her well, and he let his eyes wander comfortably.

They both realized the silence between them at the same time, and grinned, finding each other's eyes. Sam spoke first, "It is so nice to see you again, Andrew. So many old friends have left Hastings. I suppose I would have had to leave as well, if it wasn't for Adam…" She froze, suddenly very aware of the ring on her left hand. It was a simple, silver band that Adam's grandmother had left him.

"Who is Adam?" Andrew asked, trying not to sound too curious.

Sam looked down at her lap, worried she was about to make their lovely tea awkward, "Adam Wainwright – he is my fiancé. We met in London while I was helping your father with a case. He had a guesthouse down here and we were running it together. Now he is working towards becoming involved in local politics." Sam said this all very quickly and then looked at Andrew cautiously.

He smiled ruefully and nodded, "Good for you, Sam – I'm pleased that you've found someone."

Sam thanked him graciously and took a sip of tea.

"Tell me about him," Andrew said, sitting back in his chair, "I'd like to know – that is, if you don't mind."

Sam nodded eagerly, glad to talk about her new life with an old friend. It was easy to talk with Andrew. He was rather like his father in that way, and she remembered many times when they had talked for hours when he'd been home on leave. So, while munching, Sam told Andrew all that had happened since she'd last seen him.

By the time she was done with her news, the tea and scones were gone. They talked a bit more about what Andrew had seen and done in London before he stood and began to clear away the cups and plates. "Come with me a moment, Sam," he said, walking into the lounge, "I'd like to show you what I've been working on." He led the way upstairs, and then up a smaller flight at the end of corridor.

Sam was surprised to see a fairly large, open room as they emerged from the narrow stairs at the top of the house. He had organized and stacked all the old boxes and furniture at the far end, leaving an open space near the window. His desk stood there, to right of the open window, just under the eaves of the roof, and it was already cluttered with papers.

"I knew Dad wouldn't mind if I changed a few things around – he never comes up here. I think it is where he hides away memories." Andrew knelt down, the shape of his strong back pressing through his shirt. Sam's stomach tightened unpleasantly. "This is the little stove I've put in to keep this room warm in winter," he opened a little door, "see?" He grinned like a youngster with a new toy.

She let him take her around the entire room, opening the cupboards and looking through the window at the view of the sea. "You've done a wonderful job up here, Andrew. It's nice and peaceful. Maybe you will be able to get some work done now!" She smiled at him, "Have you been working on anything lately?"

He nodded, pulling a sheet of paper from a pile on his desk, "Here, I'd like to know what you think of this one – it is a poem I started yesterday." Andrew sat on the edge of the desk and cleared his throat, reminding Sam of another man who often did that. She smiled to herself and settled down in an old armchair that was missing a cushion. Andrew began to recite, only glancing at the paper for guidance:

_In uncertain times we rally 'round,__  
Soon finding ourselves duty bound,  
But all eager and determined. _

_ Our youth is gone, up in smoke,  
And we tell ourselves it's just a joke:  
"We'll all be home by morning!" _

_ The Spits rumble, roar, and cry,  
The battle's worth half the chance to fly,  
And we risk it for a thrill. _

_ But on the ground,  
Comes an awful sound,  
Of death in numbers scarcely known. _

_ And over coffee, in hushed tones,  
Wondering if our words are merely moans,  
We say, "Oh, where has the party gone?" _

Andrew stopped, "That's all I have at the moment, and it still needs a lot of work."

"It's a bit bleak, Andrew, but I think what you have to say is interesting," Sam paused, hoping she hadn't just offended him.

Andrew nodded, thoughtful, "Yes, perhaps I should be a bit more 'Wordsworth' and write about flowers and nice weather, especially since life _is_ still bleak for most people." He smiled and set the paper down, looking out of the window, "I'm hoping being here will help me get my head on straight."

Sam rose from the chair and came to stand next to him, staring out to sea. "If writing helps you deal with what you had to experience during the war, then you're head is on straight enough," she said, trying to be reassuring.

He nodded, "It's over and we came through it alright, and I shouldn't spoil our afternoon with my musings. Come on, let's sit in the garden and enjoy the sun."

They moved towards the stairs, Sam following Andrew as he descended. About half way down, Sam missed her footing and without warning, tumbled down a few steps and into Andrew. She felt as if her stomach had flown into her throat, and it was hard to breath. He caught her, pulling her to her feet, with her back against the wall for support.

"Are you alright?" he asked concernedly.

His face was close. She could see where he had nicked himself shaving, and his strong hands were around her waist, holding her carefully. The scent of his aftershave filled her nostrils and her mind went blank.

It was the familiar smell of Foyle. It had filled the Wolseley each morning as they made their way to the Police Station, and now it brought a wave of memories. Andrew must have used a bottle that had been left behind. And suddenly her hands were in his hair, pulling his lips down to meet hers. Andrew's surprise was quickly replaced with eagerness, and he pressed his body along the length of Sam's, burying his face in her neck. He let his hands wander, exploring the lovely body he had appraised earlier over a cup of tea. He felt her respond, but then Sam gasped, and pushed him away with force, murmuring, "no, no."

Andrew took a step back, but didn't let go of her, "I'm sorry, I – "

But before he could apologize, Sam spoke, "Andrew, do _not_ be sorry. It was my fault completely… I don't know what came over me. You have nothing to be sorry for, and if anything, I'm grateful for you coming to my rescue."

Still holding her hand, Andrew led her carefully down the rest of the flight of stairs and sat with her on the bottom step. While checking her ankle, he said, "Sam, do you remember when you let me hide out in your rooms when I was afraid of flying and getting burnt?"

She nodded and let him put his arm around her shoulders. He continued, "Never did I want to make love to you more, but your innocence, and the fact that you worked with my father worried me. I seem to remember I tried my best anyway, but I've grown up since then, and I certainly won't try anything with you now."

Sam smiled and sighed, "Probably a good idea, since I'm not sure how well I'd do at fighting you off this time. I don't know why I…"

She shook her head, annoyed at herself. She felt worried as well, because it wasn't Andrew himself who had sent her over the edge, but the memories of another Foyle, and that troubled her. She felt rotten about what had just happened with Andrew, and mentally kicked herself for losing control.

She said nothing to Andrew; instead she passed it off as pre-marriage nerves. He was very kind and understanding, if not a bit amused. He squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, "We won't mention it, Sam, and no harm done in the end, especially since you are still in one piece."

They made their way back to the kitchen and Sam retrieved her shopping bag. "You'll come to dinner with Adam and I next week some time, won't you? And if you want, you may come to the wedding with your father. "

Andrew grinned and nodded, leaning against the door frame in boyish fashion, hands in his pockets. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Sam."

He suddenly stood up and crossed his arms, looking serious, " You know I always thought…" he paused, glancing at her from under his fringe.

Sam froze again, willing him not to say it, not to think it. She followed his eyes from the old, worn green trilby that hung on the stand next to her, back to her own eyes. She stared back him defiantly. He came forward a few steps, and in a voice that was an uncanny imitation of Foyle's, he said, "Look, if something is bothering you, Sam, I want you to know I'm a friend first and foremost."

Sam looked at her hands, unable to meet his eyes now. "He knows," she thought miserably, "what must he think?" She wanted to tell him everything, and nearly did so, but then the moment passed. She looked into his face and said firmly, "Thank you, Andrew, but I'm fine. I love Adam and I know we have a wonderful life ahead of us."

Andrew stepped back, feeling a bit disappointed that his curiosity had got the better of him, and also that she hadn't spoken freely. He felt he should have let things be and not asked, but he couldn't help it – after what had happened on the stairs, he felt he had to know. Though he had his own ideas, he wanted to know why.

"Forgive me, Sam, I didn't mean to pry. I wish you and Adam all the best, and look forward to meeting him." He chewed his lip in a way so reminiscent of Foyle that Sam had to look away. She suddenly felt like she might cry, so she took a deep breath and picked up her bag. She nodded her head, "You're a good man, Andrew Foyle."

They smiled at each other and left it at that, relieved to be parting on good terms again. He leaned in and kissed her gently on the cheek, opening the door for her. "You are always free to come by, Sam. It is nice to see a familiar face again."

And as she waved goodbye, walking away from him, Andrew had the feeling that they had both missed an important opportunity.

TBC?


	2. Chapter 2

Reminiscent - Chapter 2

A/N: Sam finds herself with lots of questions and few answers. Can she find a solution?

* * *

A sudden noise startled a sea gull on a beach near Hastings, and it flew into the air, cawing in annoyance. The exclamation came from a young man sitting with a woman. He was brandishing a piece of paper and thrusting a slice of cake in its general direction. "He doesn't say a _word_ about what he has been up to!" Andrew Foyle exclaimed, "Not a _word_!" He took a bite of the cake and mumbled, "Typical." The woman with him laughed softly. The gull, tempted by the crumbs resettled on the ground, eyeing the couple with suspicion.

"Did you really expect him to say much about it? You know he likes to keep things to himself," said the woman.

"I know, Sam," Andrew said to his companion, sounding put out, "But one hopes these things will change."

Sam Stewart laughed again, as if the idea of Mr. Foyle changing was quite absurd – which perhaps it was.

Andrew folded the letter and stuffed it grumpily into his coat pocket, "I don't suppose he's written to you and revealed more has he?"

Sam blushed slightly and smiled to herself, but didn't reply. Rather, she rose and brushed the crumbs off her blouse. "Come on, Andrew, let's walk a bit further."

The gull swooped in gleefully as soon as they walked away.

* * *

It had happened, as these things do, by chance. A month ago, Sam had been outside Foyle's house and encountered Andrew who had just returned from London. After an… interesting… afternoon, she had invited him to dine with her and Adam. A week after this invitation Sam sent a formal invite but had no reply. She telephone Foyle's house, but no one picked up. Finally, Sam went to the house and knocked on the door for what seemed like ages, and no one answered. Somewhat at a loss, Sam decided Andrew must have gone away for a bit, and left it at that – she would try again in a few days. The unpleasant thought of if what had happened between them had sent him away crossed her mind.

After the weekend had come and gone, Sam tried again by telephoning. When no one answered, she gave it a day and a half and then went determinedly to Foyle's house. "I will knock and if I have no luck, I will ask the neighbours if they have seen him." She was inclined to feel a bit worried about him now, wondering if he had gotten himself into some sort of trouble.

She knocked fiercely on the door and was relieved when she heard it being unfastened on the other side. She was horrified, however, when she saw Andrew's face when he opened the door. He looked as if he hadn't eaten in a week; he hadn't shaved, and had dark circles under his eyes. "Andrew!" Sam cried in distress, "What on earth has happened?" She suddenly felt her stomach drop, and thought, "What if it is to do with his father?"

Andrew stepped back, beckoning her in. "It's alright, Sam," he said as she came up the steps. And as if reading her mind, he added grimly, "It isn't Dad if that's what you're thinking."

Sam went into the lounge, surprised to see books and papers strewn everywhere, along with crusted plates and tea mugs. She turned to Andrew, searching his face. He stood with his hands in his pockets, bleary eyed and looking lost. "I know, Sam, I know. Oh don't think badly of me."

He sounded so desperate that all Sam felt she could do was take him in her arms. She guided him to a chair and knelt beside him, making soothing noises and rubbing his back. It felt all too reminiscent of the day Andrew had come to find her during the war, afraid and flight weary. She pulled him closer, wondering if the poor man would ever find peace.

"I can't sleep properly, Sam, I can't write… everything feels wrong inside, " said Andrew once he had found his voice again. "I keep having these horrible dreams of flying never-ending sorties and being the only pilot left alive… and I feel so useless at the moment… and so guilty."

Sam had read about this happening. Her father had even mentioned a boy from his congregation who had killed himself because he felt so lost at home. The vicar had a few choice things to say about that of course, most of which Sam ignored. Nonetheless, she was unsure of what to say to Andrew, and therefore let him speak and get it all off his chest. She realised it was more of a case of feeling a bit lost than anything. Going from knowing what was required of oneself to little or no support system was not ideal for anyone.

When he was done speaking, Sam hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear, "Andrew Foyle, don't you ever feel guilty for being here – because of you and the others, we are still standing. No good will come of you asking what it was all for. There are people who love you and care about you, and this is no way to repay them for countless worrying during the war." Sam knew she had to be firm as well as kind.

She pulled Andrew up from his chair, propelling him up the stairs to the bathroom. Handing him a towel she said, "Get washed and I'll make some tea." He nodded, taking a deep breath, smiling shyly at her. She nodded back, giving him what she hoped was a very "Foyle" look – at once knowing and understanding.

They talked the rest of the afternoon, and Sam could see Andrew visibly relax. She helped him tidy up the house, commenting, "This place looks like a bombsite!"

Andrew gave her a funny look, and she realised the perhaps less than sensitive wording. They broke into laughter, but not before Sam was reminded, once again of his father in that fleeting glance.

Sam was grateful that nothing about their previous meeting had been brought up. She also didn't want Andrew believing she only wanted to be around him because he was Foyle's son. Therefore when the house was restored to its usual look, she convinced Andrew to come to dinner that night. "I've been trying to invite you for over a week now, and you look like you could use a decent meal," Sam said, stopping herself from asking what he had been doing or where he had been.

Sam walked quickly home, lost in thought. She and Adam rented rooms in a small house owned by a young war widow. Luckily for them, the widow was nearly always in London, dealing with her affairs there, and no doubt starting a few of her own. As Sam washed and peeled potatoes she spoke to Adam drinking his tea at the table, "I am really worried about Andrew. I think I'll look in on him and make sure he gets out more often. Perhaps if he has someone to talk to he won't get in such a state again."

Adam hesitated before he replied, "Yes. Good idea." He understood that she and Andrew had a history that he was not a part of and that it was special. He could not help but feel slightly jealous, however. Sam didn't notice his hesitation, and went on speaking with her usual top speed.

When Andrew arrived he look much better. He had unexpectedly kept his beard, though now trimmed and tidy. He still had a gaunt look about him, which only further fueled Sam's wish to look after him. He and Adam got along well, but both were careful to not go into much detail of their wartime experiences. It was a pleasant evening, and Sam felt grateful to Adam for his understanding.

After Andrew had left and the washing up was done, Sam and Adam talked for a while, sitting outside and enjoying the warm evening. "You don't mind me looking after Andrew for a bit, do you?" Sam asked conversationally.

"No…" Adam again hesitated, "I understand he is a good friend of yours, and if anyone can help at this stage, it is you, Sam." He stood suddenly and looked away. "But your life isn't always going to be wrapped up in the Foyles." He sniffed and walked back indoors, leaving a bewildered Sam staring out into the garden.

A feeling of dread filled Sam as she gazed uncertainly at next-door's hedge. Did Adam also believe or suspect, like Andrew, that she had a more than usual interest in her former boss? Or his son? What had Adam meant? Sam contemplated the feelings towards her boss that had been pushed aside with the entrance of Adam into her life. She loved Adam, she knew that; but she also…could she have such strong feelings for more than one man? When Sam realised she was arriving at more questions than answers in her pondering, and that her hands were quite cold, she went back indoors.

In the lounge, Sam perched on the edge of armchair, thinking hard. She tried to ask herself exactly what she felt, but always arrived at, "Ah, yes, but what about…" Abandoning the questions left unanswered, Sam instead tried to picture what she saw in her future. The image was very clear and she suddenly knew what she should do. "If anything, it will help me decide," she thought. She needed to be practical and responsible, as much as she dreaded the weight of these qualities sometimes.

She found Adam reading on his bed, propped up on one elbow. He looked up in surprise as she came in without knocking. Although engaged to be married, appearances were everything, and Adam was a gentleman. Together they had come up with the clever compromise of the rented rooms under one roof so as to see a lot of each other while still being chaperoned by the landlady. The fact that she was absent nearly half the time was a bit of luck.

"Sam," Adam said, sitting up. He looked at her apologetically.

"Whatever my past, Adam, _you_ are my future," she said firmly. She sat next to him on the bed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You never talk about your war days, so I don't know how you feel about it or what you experienced, but for a lot of us, it was dreary and hard. The waiting and the worrying…I was quite lucky in many ways. But I can't suddenly step away from all of that – it will take time. Helping Andrew will in some way help me too. He was a part of my war years, so maybe if we can help each other, we can both close the door on it."

Sam paused. Taking a deep breath, she went on, "And Mr. Foyle was my boss. He really looked after me during the war when I was all on my own, and we've been through a lot – we are friends and I plan on continuing that relationship."

Adam nodded, pulling her closer. "I'm sorry, Sam. I do understand, really. And know that I'm here to talk to as well." He kissed her softly. Sam smiled and nodded, glad they were on the same page. He kissed her again, this time more deeply, his hands getting lost in her curls.

"Adam."

He broke away, unsure.

"I love you," Sam said, pulling him determinedly down into a world of their own.

* * *

The letter arrived two days later. Initially, Sam worried that it would cause Adam to react like he had done previously. In the end, she decided it didn't matter as the letter, though short, filled her with so much joy. It was like having a piece of Foyle back in England.

_Dear Miss Stewart,_ it read,

_I hope this finds you well, Sam. It is strange to be in a country where the overt aftermath of war isn't a daily presence. I was tempted to send a box of food, as it seems to be more readily available than ever here, even though rationing is still in effect. I hope you are surviving well enough. _

_Though we had a varied view of the Americans in England, it is even more so here. There are people from all over the world, and I must say one quality does seem to prevail with each encounter: their hospitality. The men I had been put in touch with in Washington, "contacts" as they call them, were very helpful with my unfinished business. I will tell you more when I return to England, as less said here is better. _

_You might be pleased to know that I was able to visit Cpt. Kieffer. He agreed to see me after receiving my letter, and was kind enough to let me stay with his family for two nights. The past few years have been tough on him, but we were able to find some sort of middle ground after a long chat. Being back home seems to agree with him. He mentioned that he and Pvt. Farnetti keep in contact – Farnetti is married now, to a young French lady and they live in California. _

_It is beautiful here, Sam. The autumn colours are beginning to show and I've lost myself in the joy of fishing a few times now. I think in many ways you would like this country, and more than once I wished I had taken you up on your offer to help me drive over here. They are quite mad, especially in New York. _

_I hope to return to England soon, as my business here is finished. I could quite easily stay longer, however. The American spirit is one to be admired. Best wishes to you and Adam. _

_Sincerely, _

_Christopher Foyle _

Not only was it nice to hear from Foyle, but Sam also felt the letter told her a few things more than he had intended. For instance, the opening, "Dear Miss Stewart" told her that Foyle still hoped she wasn't yet married. The comment about the box of food told her that he was thinking of her. And the last paragraph showed her that Foyle wished, in some capacity, that she were there. Sam smiled broadly, shaking her head in amusement. It was exactly the sort of letter she would have wished for from Foyle. He didn't say too much on the surface, yet the letter said plenty in its own way. She placed it underneath the postcard on the shelf, wondering if she was reading too much into it. She decided that even if she was, it had made her day anyway. It filled her with a sort of bubbly hope.

She thought about the letter as she walked to collect Andrew from Steep Lane, going over each sentence. Smiling to herself she didn't notice the man crossing the road. It wasn't until she was nearly facing Foyle's house that she saw the familiar green hat and fishing tackle.

Her heart leapt joyfully and she ran towards the man, calling out, "Mr. Foyle! Sir!" at the top of her lungs. She stopped short when the man turned and Andrew's face peered out from under the familiar brim. The emotions that crossed Sam's face were easy enough to read, and the disappointment Andrew saw filled him with remorse. "I say, I am sorry, Sam, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Andrew," Sam paused, trying to regain her breath and composure, "what on _earth_ are you doing?" She tried not to sound annoyed – it wasn't his fault. She was more furious with herself for once again losing her self-control, and felt slightly upset that Andrew, unknowingly of course, would again make such emotions resurface.

Andrew took off the hat hurriedly, realising his mistake at wearing something Sam so obviously cherished. "I thought that I should try fishing as it always seemed to help Dad…" he faltered under her gaze. Sam turned away, suddenly feeling very foolish.

Quietly she said, "That's a good idea, Andrew, really it is. Did it help?" Sam didn't meet his eyes.

"Not really – never could quite understand the attraction. The water is bloody cold and the fish are too smart for me." He grinned suddenly, remembering his father's words from many years ago: "Never underestimate the intelligence of a trout."

Sam cast a quick glance over Andrew – he did look a sight, but found that the new beard suited him. She said as much to ease the tension. They laughed and went into the house.

"Get changed and we'll go out on the beach – it's a nice day," said Sam.

"I should think I've had enough of the outdoors today, wouldn't you?" Andrew retorted playfully, pulling off his soggy socks. "Alright, put the kettle on and I'll be down in a moment."

Sam went through to the kitchen and began making the tea. She heard the post falling through the letterbox. It was peaceful standing in Foyle's kitchen. The autumn sun streamed through the windows and the rejuvenating smell of tea filled the air. Sam sighed, feeling suddenly quite at home. She wondered at the strong response she seemed to have towards all things Foyle. Beginning to doubt herself, she sighed again.

Foyle would be home soon from America! Andrew was getting sorted, and she and Adam were muddling along well enough. She almost added, "for now," but pushed that thought away, slightly annoyed at herself. She wanted to be positive: "Life is as it should be," she thought, "so why do I long for other things then?"

She stared into space, listening to Andrew singing to himself upstairs. "He's got a beautiful voice," she thought, "I wonder if he inherited that from Mr. Foyle…I've never heard Mr. Foyle sing before…" She let her thoughts wander pleasantly, jumping slightly when Andrew came in, sorting through the post in his hand.

"Here's a letter from Dad!" Andrew cried happily, tearing open the envelope. Sam looked at the letter curiously, wondering what Foyle had said about his trip to his son. It was considerably shorter than she would have imagined, and Andrew read through it quickly. He pulled a face and bit his lower lip, once again reminding Sam of Foyle. "He hasn't said a _thing_!" Andrew said in dismay. "Typical!"

Sam smiled to herself. She had a feeling today would be spent on the topic of Foyle and the lack of information he was wont to give. Grinning in happiness and feeling suddenly quite hungry, Sam asked, "Shall we bring a bit of this cake with us then, Andrew?"


	3. Chapter 3

Reminiscent - Chapter 3

* * *

In the intervening weeks, the air had become colder and the wind stronger – a general decline into winter. Nonetheless, Sam and Andrew still made a point to go out walking on the beach, in the woods or just through town. Sam felt sure, like her Uncle Aubrey insisted, that good, fresh air was a decent remedy for many annoyances, further facilitated by a drop of wine. So, despite the weather, Sam called round to Steep Lane each week, pulling Andrew out of the house and taking his mind off whatever horrors lay in wait in the recesses of his mind.

The best thing about these excursions, other than lunch or tea in Sam's eyes, was that Andrew had a chance to talk with someone. He had felt rather self-conscious at first – men he knew were not usually in the habit of speaking about what they felt, but after two or three conversations with Sam, Andrew realised it actually helped. She helped him look forwards. His writing was improving, and he had begun to move past whatever demons had possessed him during that week in September.

Andrew also admitted to himself that he had feelings for Sam. What was there not to like about the radiant, unique Sam? He put aside any romantic feelings however, because of her engagement and obvious attachment to Adam. He liked Adam, and although felt that perhaps it was not the match he would have foreseen for Sam, he knew they would do well together. Sometimes Andrew found himself cursing his own bad luck, but then remembered that having Sam as a good friend was just as lovely. They got along very well, laughing and teasing each other quite a lot, as well as supporting each other.

Andrew had come to the little house where Sam and Adam rented rooms a few times, but mostly Sam came to Steep Lane. It held fond memories of the absent Foyle for both of them. Adam had been spending time in London just recently, so Sam was coming to see Andrew more often. Adam was trying to find his way into politics and the meetings usually took place in London. Sam didn't hide the fact that she spent a lot of time with Andrew, and Adam was understanding. She was headstrong, and he loved her for it. He realised that if Sam wanted to leave him, she would have done so already. They had reached enough of a compromise that Adam just let her get on with it – with what he considered her little project, though he would never have put it in such terms to Sam.

Sam, on her part, never questioned Adam's movements, but enthusiastically supported his endeavours to be in politics. It was a world that was a bit beyond her, and the brief encounter she had previously had with it – with Martin Longmate during the campaign for new MP – had not presented a positive view. She much preferred Police work, exhibited in the collection of mystery and crime books she had acquired over the years. She missed discussing cases with Foyle and being on scene when it got exciting.

It was with these thoughts of past events with Foyle that Sam walked to Steep Lane. The previous day had been blustery and cold, and had now all but blown out, replacing it instead with grey and damp. For once Sam felt a good fire and cup of tea would be better than a walk. She knocked on the door and stamped her feet to keep warm.

"Hallo, Sam," came Andrew's usual greeting as he opened the door.

"Hallo! I say, Andrew, you wouldn't perhaps like to stay indoors today would you? It is terribly cold."

Andrew grinned, "I was hoping you'd say that. Come in and let me beat you at chess for a bit."

Sam sat in Foyle's old chair in front of the fire, accepting a cup of tea from Andrew. He was wearing his lovely old blue RAF jumper that had seen him through the War winters. With his beard he looked rather dashing and Sam smiled slightly, letting herself wonder for just a moment if this is what life would have been like if they had stayed together.

"You know, perhaps I wouldn't lose each time if you actually taught me the rules properly. Half the time I think you are making them up," Sam teased.

Andrew pulled the board towards him, setting up the pieces. "Dad's the one who should teach you really – I'm rubbish when it comes to explaining the details."

They played in silence for a while, each sipping their tea and contemplating the moves on the board. Finally Andrew asked, "Is Adam in Hastings at the moment?"

"No, he had a meeting this afternoon in London. He is making progress though."

"Good." Andrew paused and seeing Sam's look, added, "That he is making progress I mean." He paused again, "Well, why don't you stay and help me make dinner. We can have something nice and celebrate the fact that I've just had a poem published."

"Oh Andrew! Congratulations! Why didn't you tell me? When did you find out?" Sam fired this at him in her usual non-stop fashion.

Andrew smiled, sitting back in his chair. "Well I had a letter this morning, so don't feel I've been keeping it secret. I didn't want to say I'd sent one in case it was rejected."

"Well done, that is splendid. And of course I'll stay for dinner – what are we having?"

"I thought we could have cottage pie as it is that sort of weather. But I'm not sure I have everything for it." Andrew rose and went into the kitchen. Sam drank the last of her tea and followed. She found Andrew rifling through some items in the larder. He pulled out a few things, dumping them on the kitchen counter. "Right, you start, and I'll just pop into town before the shop closes for the afternoon."

Sam looked at the ingredients and laughed, "Andrew, do you even know _how_ to make a cottage pie, or did you get me over here in the hopes I'd make it for you?"

He grinned, looking sheepish, "Well it never hurts to try. What have I forgotten?"

Sam laughed again, and wrote down a short list. "Now, where are the pans?"

Andrew showed her and scooted out of the way quickly when she lightheartedly brandished a frying pan at him, "You are just going to get under my feet, aren't you?" She found a tea towel and wiped the inside of the pan, which had hardly been used since Foyle left. Andrew wasn't much for cooking.

In response, Andrew broke into song, making up the words as he went,_  
_

_Oh Sam dear, Sam dear,  
You are what I mostly fear,  
In the kitchen with the frying pan,  
Oh dear Sam!_

Laughing, he ducked as Sam threw the tea towel at him.

"Rascal," she giggled, "Now go on before the shop closes and we are left with bits that will only vaguely resemble cottage pie."

Andrew hadn't felt so happy in ages. He practically skipped the short distance to the shop, humming a tune. He was in luck, the shop was still open, and he got everything on the list, only briefly deliberating over what they should have to drink. Nodding and smiling to people he met on the pavement, much to their bemusement, Andrew hurried back to the house on Steep Lane. As he went up the steps, he thought he would try to surprise Sam with another burst of song. He quietly went through the door and into the lounge. As he came towards the kitchen he began singing at the top of his lungs,

_Oh Sam dear, Sam dear,  
I had the thought to buy some beer,  
Sa –_

Andrew's breath caught in his throat and he stopped in mid waltz into the kitchen. He was unprepared for the sight that greeted him and all he could do was stare.

* * *

Sam was glad to be cooking for Andrew, but it was strange being in Foyle's house all alone. She looked around at the kitchen, throwing the tea towel over her shoulder before starting in on the potatoes, thinking once again how much she loved this house. She hoped one day she would find a place where she felt just as much at home. Losing herself in pleasant, wandering thoughts, she heard the front door open about ten minutes later. "That was quick," Sam thought, "I hope he was able to get everything we need." She heard a bump and movements in the hall, and she wondered why he was taking so long.

She called out, "Come on, you rascal, you aren't going to make me do all of this by myself I hope! Was the shop closed?"

There was no answer, but she heard footsteps coming through the lounge. Sam felt a flash of annoyance – "Is he trying to sneak up on me?" – then she suddenly thought it might not be Andrew at all. She picked up the frying pan again, waiting fearfully. When she saw who walked through the doorway she nearly dropped the pan in surprise.

"Sam." The man raised his eyebrows and tried not to look too amused.

"Mr. Foyle!" Sam went forward quickly, grinning from ear to ear. He broke into a smile too, looking pointedly at the pan in her hand. She put it down hurriedly, going red. Sam had imagined what she might say to Foyle when she saw him again, but it had all vanished from her mind and she felt suddenly quite shy. While trying to stop her mind racing, wondering how he had come to be there, she asked, "Did you have a nice trip? How are you?"

Foyle studied her carefully and with amusement. Of all the things he might have anticipated – the house in disarray from Andrew or half a dozen of his friends camped out about the place, seeing Sam standing in his kitchen looking quite at home hadn't even crossed his mind. And surprisingly, Foyle thought, it was the one thing he would have wanted.

He had expected a cold house and no one there to greet him because he had returned so suddenly and unexpectedly, but to have lovely, bubbly Sam there was a pleasant surprise. He wondered if this is what life might have been like if….Shaking his head and smiling at Sam, he said softly, "The trip was fine; I am doing well." Foyle came a step closer, "I am very glad to see you, Sam, but might I ask what you are doing?" He said this kindly, but Sam still blushed.

"I'm making cottage pie for Andrew – well he's supposed to be helping me, but he had to pop down to the shop for a few things."

Foyle didn't say anything, but Sam could see the questions forming in eyes, and she felt embarrassed. "He and I have been spending a lot of time together…he has had a hard time adjusting to civilian life, and I've been a friend to him, listening and supporting him. I thought it was a good idea to get him out of the house now and again, and Adam agreed with me." She said this all very quickly.

Foyle smiled, "Andrew is very lucky to have a friend like you." He paused, biting his lip, "I didn't know he was having a difficult time – is he alright now?"

"Yes, he just needed someone to talk to."

"And you, how are you…and Adam?" Foyle didn't meet her eyes.

"Fine, doing well and making a go of it. Adam is doing well too, though quite busy. He's away in London a lot just at the minute."

Foyle nodded slowly. He looked around the kitchen distractedly, unsure of what to say. There was so much to tell and catch up on.

Sam stepped closer, suddenly feeling quite bold. "Welcome home, Sir." She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Foyle looked surprised and gratified.

He smiled kindly, "Thank you, Sam. It is nice to be home, although the weather isn't very encouraging." They were still standing close to one another when Andrew waltzed in, making them both jump out of their skins. They stepped away from each other, and Foyle cleared his throat. Andrew stared as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Dad."

"Hello, Andrew."

Andrew forced a smile and set the shopping bag on the counter. "Welcome home. I didn't know you were coming – have a good trip?"

Foyle nodded, "Yes, I'll tell you all about it." He paused, clearing his throat again and patting his pockets as if unsure of what to say. "Right, well I think I'll unpack and let you two get on with it."

Sam spoke up, "Dinner will be ready at 7 o'clock." It felt strange saying that to Foyle in his own house. She was reminded of the time she had made him Coq au vin while staying in his back room.

Foyle nodded, and went out of the kitchen. Sam glared at Andrew, aware that he was feeling a bit sulky. Before he could say anything, she picked up the potato she had been peeling. "Don't be a five year old and bring me those onions." Andrew did as he was told, and tried not to feel as though a special evening with Sam had been spoiled.


	4. Chapter 4

Reminiscent - Chapter 4

* * *

Sam stayed away from Steep lane for a day or two after Foyle had come home, giving him time with Andrew and space to get settled again. Their dinner of cottage pie had been a bit tense. Surprisingly, Foyle was quite chatty, telling them all he had done in America, what he had seen, and how Howard Paige had got his comeuppance thanks to some help from the FBI. Sam listened with rapt attention, and so did Andrew, despite his intention to sulk.

After dinner, Andrew walked Sam home. He didn't say much, but at her door he said, "Sorry I was…you know." He rolled his eyes.

Sam laughed, "Silly rascal." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and squeezed his arm. "See you later this week, I'm sure."

Andrew smiled, grateful that she wasn't annoyed with him. He waved goodbye and went back to Steep Lane.

Foyle was waiting, sitting in his usual chair, glass of whiskey in hand. He held up one for Andrew as the young man came through the door to the lounge. Andrew took it and smiled. Foyle raised his glass slightly. "Nice to be home, Andrew."

"Good to see you, Dad. Sorry I'm such an idiot."

Foyle laughed, "Or a rascal, apparently." He told Andrew what he had encountered when he arrived home and they both laughed at the image of Sam brandishing the frying pan.

Foyle looked thoughtful for a moment. "Do you love her, Andrew?"

Somewhat taken aback, Andrew faltered, "N-no. I mean, well…she helped me through a rough patch, Dad. She was there when I really needed someone, and well, she's just so lovely, how could I not?" He suddenly looked quite weary, as if this thought had been burdening him.

Foyle nodded, "Andrew, I'm sorry I wasn't here for you. I feel bad about that."

"Don't. We both had things we had to do, and I think we are both the better for it. I know Sam loves Adam, but she and I are better friends than we've ever been and I wouldn't change that for the world. I'm not…what she wants, and I've come to terms with that." Andrew realised he had almost said _I'm not the Foyle she wants_, and was glad he hadn't. But he was still curious. Cautiously he asked, "Do you?"

Foyle looked up sharply, "Andrew!"

Andrew didn't look away, but held his gaze. Foyle sighed, "Like you said, Sam is a very special young lady." He took a sip and stared at the pieces on the chessboard that Andrew and Sam had left standing earlier that day. "Sometimes it is best to think about what would be better for others, rather than for yourself."

That was no answer at all really, Andrew thought, but understood what Foyle meant. They both loved Sam in their own way, but also knew that they ultimately were not the best for her and what she wanted out of life.

Andrew nodded, "So, we should be happy with what we have, in this case her friendship and loyalty."

"Precisely."

They both sipped their drinks, minds whirling. Andrew finally caught his father's eye, and said softly, "I've always known you and she had a special relationship – you were a team and looked out for each other." He paused, "That relationship, and also the one I have with her doesn't have to change with her marriage. She's still our Sam."

Foyle nodded. Suddenly he grinned, "Andrew, I'm so glad you've got your mother's empathy and yet enough of my practicality."

Andrew laughed. "Yes, I suppose I do." He set his drink down, and asked lightheartedly, "Dad, does Sam remind you of Mum?"

Foyle put his head to one side and thought for a moment, "Yes, in a way. Same spirit – the kind that keeps one going when all seems lost. Your mum was a fighter, and so is Sam. She helped me get through the war, to be perfectly honest, just as she has been helping you. "

"We Foyles would be a bit lost without our Sam then," said Andrew, smiling. "It's good to talk, Dad. I've missed you."

Foyle felt a lump rise in his throat – it wasn't often that he and Andrew could be so forthcoming with each other, and he realised that moments like these were important and dear. He nodded and finished his drink. "I'm off to bed now, my son, it's been a long day." Foyle paused to ruffle Andrew's hair like he used to do when he was small. Andrew laughed good naturedly, "God bless, Dad, sleep well."

"You too." Foyle paused, "And Andrew – "

"Hmm."

"Congratulations on your poem." Foyle nodded at the letter that lay open on the sideboard.

Andrew smiled, _nothing gets past him, does it? _

_

* * *

_

Foyle drove his Riley to the little house where Sam and Adam rented rooms. He had decided, since Andrew was busy writing, he would go fishing. On the way however, he thought perhaps Sam might fancy a chat.

Foyle had to hide his amusement when Sam opened the door with a very surprised, "Mr. Foyle! What brings you here?"

_You_ – he was very tempted to say, but instead he doffed his trilby (Sam's favourite old green one) and said, "Well I was on my way to do some fishing as Andrew is busy and thought I might say hello."

"That's very kind. Are you feeling settled back at home?"

"Yes, it is nice to be back." Foyle wondered if she was ever going to invite him in. He was curious to see where she lived now.

"I don't want to keep you from your fish, Sir, so…unless it will put you off, what if I came with you? Kill two birds with one stone, as they say."

Foyle grinned, "Get your jacket and some old shoes on, I'll wait." He was pleased at the thought of spending the morning with her, doing what he enjoyed. Andrew was less than enthusiastic about fishing, so it was nice to have someone else to share it with.

"Jolly good, Sir," said Sam with a laugh.

Foyle followed her inside and stood in lounge while Sam got her things together. It was a comfortable looking house and he thought that she and Adam had done well, finding a place to live with each other without seeming to do so. He spied his postcard on a shelf, and smiled to himself.

"All present and correct, Sir," said Sam, coming into the room.

"Right." Foyle led the way out to the car, opening the door on the driver's side and stepping back. "Fancy having a go?"

Sam grinned, "Really, Sir? Yes please!"

Foyle laughed softly, thinking it felt like old times again.

"Just like old times again, Sir," said Sam, echoing his thoughts.

They drove, Sam talking non-stop as usual, to Foyle's favourite part of the river. The cloud from the night before had been swept away by a strong wind, leaving the morning bright and crisp. The leaves were changing colour and falling. Foyle set up his gear, casting experimentally with a fly to see if the fish were biting. Sam sat near him, watching with fascination.

Foyle spoke over his shoulder, "Thank you for looking after Andrew. It has meant a lot to him, I know."

"It was my pleasure, Sir. I was glad to be able to help."

"And I should thank you for always looking after me too, during the war…" Foyle wasn't sure why he had said it, but it felt right that she should know what an impact she had made on their lives.

"Those were tough years for all of us, Sir, we helped each other through," Sam said softly. "You are a great friend, and I always appreciated the fact that you kept an eye on me and supported me."

Foyle looked uncomfortable. He didn't like having to talk openly, especially not about feelings and emotions. With Andrew was one thing, but with Sam it was more awkward.

"Mr. Foyle, what do you think of Adam." The question came out of nowhere and Foyle looked over at her in concern. _Is she having second thoughts?_

"I think he is someone who loves you very much and will be an equal partner to you."

Sam nodded. "Can you love more than one person at a time? I know that sounds odd, but I mean…" she faltered, unsure of how to phrase the question that had been weighing on her mind for sometime.

Foyle reeled in his line and came to sit next to her. "Andrew?" he asked softly.

Sam looked away.

Foyle bit his lip. "I think that you, Sam, have an incredible capacity to love and care for people. What you must ask yourself is what you want out of life, who can give you that, and if there is a foreseeable future with that person."

Sam nodded, and sighed, looking at the river. "I love Adam, and I believe that we will be happy together. We get along well and we support each other…but I suppose I just have such a history with you and Andrew, it is hard to forget that." She had some misgivings about Adam, but didn't mention them to Foyle. She felt they were silly, nitpickings that were just a sign of insecurity.

Foyle froze, feeling his heart thump wildly in his chest. To have Sam around all the time, as Andrew's wife or otherwise would be lovely, but he knew them both too well. "I don't see Andrew being a particularly easy husband," Foyle said slowly. He pursed his lips, thinking, "But unless Adam doesn't want you to be around Andrew or me, then I don't see why you can't still be friends and spend time with us."

Sam told Foyle what Adam had said. _Your life isn't always going to be wrapped up in the Foyles._ "Was he just feeling jealous, or nervous that I would break off the engagement?"

"That would make sense, Sam," Foyle conceded. He smiled suddenly, "We men can be sensitive now and then. I suspect that he just needs a bit of reassurance."

Sam slipped her arm through Foyle's and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you, Sir."

Foyle patted her hand in a friendly way. "I for one don't want to lose you."

"Me either, Sir."

They both realised how much a part of each other's lives they were. War had brought them all together, and they couldn't just walk away from such circumstances. With the knowledge that Foyle and Andrew weren't to be whisked out of her life, Sam felt more at ease. Foyle was her constant – who she looked to for guidance and reassurance. "So, will you read a lesson at our wedding then, Sir?"

Foyle smiled, "Of course." He felt his eyes go a bit misty and that familiar lump rise in his throat. _I'm getting soft in my old age_. He wasn't going to lose his Sam, and to see her happily settled was good – she deserved it. He made a mental note to have a serious chat with Adam later.

"Right then." Foyle stood, taking Sam's hand and leading her towards the river. "Here's the deal: if I catch the fish, you prepare it; and if you catch it, I prepare it."

"But I don't know how to fish."

Foyle smiled, "Well, I'm going to show you."

Pushing back his hat, he handed the rod to Sam and fitted a different fly. He stood behind Sam, guiding her hands, "See flick it back like that….very good, and again. That mimics an insect you see. Right, now let out a bit of the line…"

Their laughter rang out over the river, both feeling happier than they had been in a long time.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Reminiscent, Chapter 5

* * *

Even though the wind howled outside and the winter rain lashed at the windows, the fire in the grate crackled merrily, warming the room nicely. Sam could not get warm however – she shivered and hugged herself, leaning back in her chair. Tears welled once again in her eyes and she hunched her shoulders dejectedly. _Why?_ She kept asking herself. She gave a huge sniff and rubbed the hot tears from her cheeks. She leant forward, taking up her pen once more. She added a few more lines to the letter and signed it. She stood, taking the letter with her, reading over it.

_Dear Milner, _

_ Forgive me for contacting you out of the blue like this. I know we haven't kept in contact as much as perhaps we should have.  
I hope you are doing well, and that Police work is exciting as ever. I do miss it. _

_ I was hoping that we could meet this weekend, perhaps on Saturday afternoon. It would be nice to see you again, and Edi and Clementine of course.  
I would like to ask your advice about something – you were the first person I thought of. I know I'm not making much sense here, but please write and let me know if we can meet. _

_As always, _

_ Sam _

Stuffing the letter into an envelope, Sam took a deep breath and sniffed again. That would have to do for now. "Goodbye, Mrs. Brown," Sam called to landlady of the little house where she and Adam rented rooms. She quickly pulled on her heavy coat and stepped outside, braving the wind and rain. She realised she might be a bit late for the start of school, but she had to post the letter today if it were to reach Brighton in time.

Hurrying along into town, she posted the letter and then continued on to the nursery school just past the baker's. For the past few months she had been helping the teachers at nursery. She loved working with the children and being around them. She was glad they lived in a world without war. She arrived slightly out of breath, but in time. The children were just going in and were pleased to see her, crowding around shouting and laughing about some new game. Sam smiled, glad to have this to take her mind off things.

The reply to Sam's letter came in two days time. Sam's heart leapt when she saw Milner's handwriting. She tore open the letter and read it quickly.

_Dear Sam, _

_ How nice to hear from you. Yes, come at 3 on Sat. and we'll have an early tea. It will be lovely to see you. _

_Best, _

_Paul Milner_

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and sat down heavily. She hoped Milner would be able to help.

* * *

Saturday dawned with the promise of nicer weather. Sam took the bus to Brighton in the afternoon, stopping to buy a little toy for Clementine on the way to Milner's house. She had never been to his new house and was curious to see it. The front was painted a lovely, bright cream and had a nice view. She knocked on the door and looked around, waiting.

"Sam." Milner smiled broadly and kissed her cheek. He beckoned her in and led the way to the lounge. Clementine sat comfortably playing on the floor. "Edi's just bringing the tea," Milner said, showing Sam to a seat. "How are you, Sam? It feels like it has been ages."

Sam smiled, "Yes it has been. I'm doing well."

Clementine looked up with interest at their new guest. Sam looked at Milner, "I brought her a little toy, may I give it to her?"

"That's very kind, Sam." Milner smiled to himself, suddenly remembering the baby clothes Sam had tried to make out of an old blanket all those years ago.

Sam knelt near the little girl and brought out a small doll. Clementine seized it with joy, giving a little gurgle. Edi came in and set down the tea tray. "Oh that's lovely, Sam, thank you." Sam stood and greeted her. As Edi poured the tea, Sam looked around the room. It was a cozy place. Milner was looking his usual self, although Sam could tell he was losing his hair slightly. The three exchanged pleasantries and Sam inquired about Milner's work as Detective Inspector.

"No vacancies I suppose," Sam asked lightly.

Milner laughed, "No, afraid not."

He sipped his tea and looked over at his wife, catching her eye. She nodded slightly and stood, "I'll just see to some things in the kitchen. Do excuse me."

Sam pulled Clementine into her lap, letting her show off the dolly. Milner set down his cup. "Now, what can I do for you Sam?"

Sam looked up, surprised. Milner wasn't usually one to come to the point so quickly. He smiled kindly, "You had me a bit worried with that letter, Sam. Are you in any trouble?" Milner had wondered why he was the first she had thought of. Wouldn't she have gone to Mr. Foyle?

Sam sighed heavily. "Well, Milner, you were the one person who has known me for a long time and who is not directly involved in my current situation. I felt you would be objective." She patted her hair agitatedly, "You know that I am engaged to be married to Adam Wainwright?"

Milner nodded, remembering some mention of it in one of Sam's old letters from the summer.

Sam continued, "We had a bit of a row the other evening and…well…I suppose I should start from the beginning. He is trying to get into politics and has been up and down to London for the past few months. I know this hasn't been easy for him, and I suppose I caught him at a bad moment, but…"

She paused and took a deep breath, "He mentioned moving up to London, and I said I didn't want to live in the city. There are so many places that are still being restored and repaired after all the bombing damage, and it is busy and hectic. I also said that it was no place to raise a family."

Milner's eyebrows shot up in way faintly reminiscent of their former boss. He said nothing, however, and let Sam continue.

"He just blew up – said I must joking, this was no time to be starting a family, he was still trying to make enough money to allow us to marry and make a home for ourselves. He said I had no idea…didn't I realise the strain he was under. He wants to have children someday, I know, we've talked about it, but his reaction really upset me."

"I…" Sam's breath caught in the back of her throat. She swallowed and went on, "I felt that if I was pregnant right now he wouldn't want us…"

Milner flinched. _Poor Sam…_ He asked hesitantly, "Are you?"

She shook her head, _no. _

She took another deep breath. Clementine gurgled away happily on her lap and she smiled weakly at the child. "Adam is a good man, Milner, please believe me when I say that, but he gets very focused and doesn't allow anyone else in. He is very clever and I think he forgets about the rest of the world sometimes. He won't talk about what he is working on – not really, just vague mentions here and there. Probably a hang over from his war work. He has never shouted at me before though and I think that is what upset me the most."

Sam's voice trembled, but she added, "We had words and tried discussing our future, but I felt he wasn't being reasonable. He just got angry then and said we should think about it. A colleague of his had invited him to a house in the country along with a few others they know, so he's up there now for four or five days. He comes home tomorrow and I haven't decided what to say to him. He felt this break would be good, but I only feel more lost."

She was crying by then, and Milner looked uncomfortably at her, trying to think of what to say. He had never been particularly skilled in matters of love, so he couldn't think why she had come to him. His only thought was that he would like to pummel this Adam character good and hard for hurting his Sam.

Milner leaned forward, "Has he changed or has just your situation together changed, Sam?" Milner, of all people, knew that a person could change and leave others behind in the process. But he also knew that a situation could change and the person remain the same. His hand went unconsciously to his prosthetic limb.

Sam shook her head, "I don't know." She sniffed, "Maybe we just want different things?"

Milner sighed, thinking hard. "You have got to ask him and see if you both want the same things now."

Sam nodded, "I think he is finally getting a chance to discover himself – he was pulled into the war quite early on because of the type of work he did. Now he has the opportunity to find out what it is he wants out of life. I don't want to get in the way of that."

Frowning, Milner retorted, "Well, if he asked you to marry him, then ideally you would be a part of all that." _I'll put the wind up this chap as soon as I get the chance, _Milner thought angrily.

They discussed the matter awhile longer, Milner trying to cheer Sam up. When it was time to catch her bus he walked with her to the stop. "Thank you, Milner," Sam said warmly, smiling, "You've been a great help. It feels better just having talked it over."

He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "Any time, Sam. I'm always here if you need me."

The bus pulled up, sending a wave of rainwater puddles onto the pavement. Milner kissed Sam on the cheek and waved good-bye. "Look after yourself, Sam."

"And you," Sam replied as the doors closed. She found a seat and sat looking out as the town flashed by.

In anguish, Sam let questions form in her mind and then tried to answer them practically. In the end she told herself that she would wait until Adam came home and they had talked things through. However, she could not get rid of the overwhelming feeling of doubt she had been experiencing. _Do I love Adam? Yes. Do I see a future with him? Y- … do I?_ As Hastings came into view, Sam cursed under breath. This wasn't going to end well, she could feel it.


	6. Chapter 6

Reminiscent Ch 6

_April 1946_

Fields separated by hedgerows flashed by as the train sped on towards the sea. The compartment door slid open with a crash, and Sam Stewart looked up, jumping slightly.

"Oh good," she thought glumly, "another person." She shifted, if possible, closer to the window.

The dull light of the compartment gave off a ghostly reflection of the young woman as she stared at herself intently, ignoring the rest of the world. Letting the train's movement lull Sam back into her thoughts, she sighed heavily and began to wonder silently again.

It had been months since she had left Hastings. Her stomach tightened unpleasantly at the thought of why she had left, and she unconsciously clenched her teeth. After visiting Milner in Brighton, Sam had returned home to find Adam sitting in the lounge, glaring at the fireplace. His unpacked bag lay at his feet, coat slung over the back of his chair. Sam bit her lip, trying not to hear the words they had said. Because, by God, did they have words – it was something that Sam felt she would never forget, although Mr. Foyle said these things always looked better down the road. It was now nearly five months "down the road," and it didn't feel any less painful. In less than a year she had experienced the end of a war that had changed her life, been properly in love for the first time, engaged to be married, and now everything had gone. No big wedding, no Adam, no more Hastings.

She had dreaded telling Andrew and Mr. Foyle. What would they think of her? But of course they had been the most supportive and caring, unlike her own family, who dragged her back to the vicarage without further thought. Even Adam's existence was never to be mentioned again by her father – it was as if he had never come into Sam's life to sweep her off her feet. Sam did not hate Adam like her father did. In fact, she perhaps understood him better than anyone else. He had apologized, in a letter of course – "men are such cowards sometimes," Sam had thought angrily, remembering another letter from many years ago that had also broken her heart. The long winter months at the vicarage had felt like torture. She wrote each week to Andrew, and when the letters got too desperate he would drive up on his motorbike to take her out for the day.

Mr. Foyle wrote now and then too, but he never came to rescue her in his car like Andrew did with his bike. She had hoped he might, but never begrudged the fact that he didn't. She hadn't left so that Foyle might chase her. Grateful to Andrew, she told him everything – about Adam, about how miserable life at the vicarage was, even about Mr. Foyle. If their love was only ever to be in friendship, he had to know her inside and out, and Andrew was one of the last people she trusted completely.

"I never understood it, Andrew," she said once when they were huddle away from the January wind inside a pub.

"What's that?" Andrew replied, taking a sip of beer. He put it down suddenly when he saw tears welling in her eyes.

Sam took a deep breath. "I never understood why I felt like I was…" she paused -she couldn't bear to say it out loud. "Why Mr. Foyle and I were…why I was so…" she looked at him helplessly.

Sighing deeply, Andrew shrugged his shoulders, "Because."

Sam stopped sniffing long enough to give him a look. He continued, sighing again, "Sam, you and Dad helped each other more than you will ever know. You were there for each other, and the connection and partnership each of you shared is very special."

"But he was my boss," Sam cried, giving a little sob.

"Yes." Andrew's face broke into a grin, "Who would ever have guessed it? Dark horse, is our Sam."

They laughed, and Andrew took another sip before continuing. "Can't love express itself in many ways, Sam?" We love each other in our own way; so did you and Dad."

"_Do,_" thought Sam.

"Besides," Andrew added, "He was able to give you something none of us other chaps have: stability."

Sam nodded, pursing her lips in a very Foyle like way.

"Means a lot in wartime, and means a damn bit more afterwards." Andrew said, draining his glass with finality.

"Indeed." Sam thought this for the hundredth time. She often felt that although on one hand it had helped saying it out loud for someone to hear, it had also made the situation worse, because she was aching to know, to resolve it somehow. It occupied her mind to such a degree that she became more clumsy than usual and it wasn't until her father commented that she did her best to put it out of mind.

Andrew's letters, still sparse, true to form, helped keep her spirits up. When Easter came Sam felt she could bear the vicarage no more, and she escaped to Uncle Aubrey's. He had been very matter of fact about the whole business with Adam.

Pouring a gracious amount of green wine for her, he had said, "Plenty of life still left to live, my girl, never mind. Now get a bit of this wine in you and we'll think no more about it."

Staying with Uncle Aubrey had done her good. It was thanks to him that she was on her way in the train now. His parish, like many others, was gathering volunteers willing to help reconstruct and restore the devastated countries in Europe. Along with a few strapping girls who hadn't had nearly enough fun out of this war yet, Sam volunteered to help in Poland for as long as they needed her. She could help with children, sorting out food for families, and offer services to refugees coming back to their country. It was just being an extra pair of hands really, but Sam was over the moon about it. She would be able to help and care for those who had suffered far worse in the war – it made her feel like she was giving back a bit. Uncle Aubrey had beamed with pride – he knew his niece would be one to get behind to such a plan. He had even told Mrs. Hill from next door so.

Sam's father was most displeased when she returned home a few weeks later. He wrote a particularly curt note to his brother, who immediately tossed it in the fire and thought nothing of it. Uncle Aubrey was used to Rev. Stewart by now.

Her father had tried everything to make her change her mind. Finally, Sam had turned to him, giving him a very Foyle look, clear and unwavering. "I thought it was our Christian duty, Father, to help others in a time of need. The Polish people, amongst others of course, are in need of our help. Why would you have me deny my duty?"

"Don't be self righteous, Samantha," he had said sharply. But Sam knew she had won the battle. Perhaps people here at home needed help too, but Poland sounded like a place far enough away from the oppressive vicarage. She loved her father, but enough was enough. Sam stopped worrying and looked forward to not only being useful once again, but to the adventure of it all.

Andrew telephoned her as soon as he heard. He was thrilled and made her promise to come to Hastings before she left. "It's on the way to Dover, anyway, Sam," he said excitedly, "Do say you'll come."

"Of course," she said breathlessly, the joy at the thought of being in Hastings again ringing in her voice.

* * *

Stepping on to the platform at Hastings felt wonderfully familiar. Sam took a deep breath before waving a porter down. Suddenly she felt a strong arm around her waist, pulling her close. That same old aftershave smell filled her nostrils and she felt fluttering in her stomach.

"Rascal," she said playfully, kissing Andrew's cheek. "Make yourself useful, then." Together, they pulled her heavy case onto a trolley.

"Good thing Dad has the car waiting," said Andrew, wiping his hands, "What on _earth_ do you have in there?"

Sam blushed, "Well, I've never been to Poland."

"So you're taking half of England with you, just in case?"

Sam punched his shoulder lightly.

Outside, the gulls and smell of the sea greeted Sam. She closed her eyes for a moment and let it wash over her. The first thing she saw when she opened them again was Mr. Foyle, leaning against the bonnet of his car, looking quite cavalier with his hands in his pockets. He caught sight of them and stood, his gaze finding Sam right away. Her heart leapt into her throat, making her greeting sound more like a squeak than, "Hello, Sir."

He took off his hat and kissed her cheek, holding his lips against her face for a second longer than usual. He opened the door for her, "Nice to see you again, Miss Stewart." His eyes twinkled down at her as he grinned. Sam wondered how she could have ever left. "Left Hastings…left _him_." She shook her head slightly.

Andrew turned round as they pulled away from the station. "Tea, Sam?"

"Ooh yes please!"

Foyle smiled softly, glancing at Sam in the rear view mirror. She caught his eye and grinned back at him. She talked non-stop after that, in her usual Sam fashion, telling the two men about her plans for her trip.

Over tea, Andrew teased her, "How are you going to help the Polish if you eat like this? They are trying to round up food, you know."

"I've already thought of that, Andrew," Sam replied quickly, giving him a mischievous smile.

"You never?" Andrew laughed, leaning forward, "The suitcase?"

Sam giggled into her scone.

Foyle sat watching the two of them, a part of him wishing that they were compatible enough for marriage. What fun they all would have! But perhaps they wouldn't have wanted him around when they were married. He shook his head, annoyed at his wavering thoughts. "Why does it always come back to this?" he asked himself. "She would always be their Sam. But goodness, the vicarage had been far enough away, now Europe?"

Foyle would miss Sam, but he was also very glad. It was the best thing for her – to get away, to experience a bit more of life. "Though God knows what horrors she might see in the war torn areas. No wonder Rev. Stewart had been so against the idea," he thought.

Foyle chewed his lower lip, suddenly wondering if Sam was rushing in to this venture. He saw how enthusiastic Andrew was when he heard she was going – maybe he should convince Sam to take him along? It might be good for Andrew too. They were both going a bit stir crazy after being shut up together in Foyle's house in Hastings over the winter. Foyle did love having his son close by again though.

He was brought back to the conversation with a jolt when he realised Sam was speaking to him.

"What do you think about my plans, Sir?"

Foyle twitched his lips into a soft smile, "I think it will certainly be an experience. And if ever a place needed the sunshine and happiness you bring…" he paused, clearing his throat. He suddenly felt that letting lovely Sam slip away again was unbearable. He bit his lip, unsure of how to go on.

Andrew jumped in, saying, "Yes, we had quite a few Poles at our base at one point. Jolly good at mechanics, I must say. Decent chaps, most of them. Would do any job you asked and always enjoyed a laugh. It is a good deed, Sam."

Sam nodded, but didn't take her eyes off Foyle. She saw his discomfort. He looked up and saw her watching him. Smiling, he handed her the last scone. "We must feed you up, Sam."

Sam's hand shook as she took the plate.

After tea they made their way back to Steep Lane, quietly for a change. They all seemed to be preoccupied with their thoughts.

"I've made up the bed in my room for you, Sam, and I'll be in my attic office," said Andrew as he and Foyle dragged Sam's case up the steps.

"Very kind of you, Andrew," she replied, gazing up at the house. She had such a look of calm and peace as well as longing that Foyle nearly dropped his end of the case. Andrew went upstairs to lay out a spare flannel by the sink, leaving Sam and Foyle in the lounge, together and alone at last. Sam sighed as she sat, taking in the room that had never changed in her time of knowing it. It was a comforting sight, as it had always been. Foyle stood watching her from the doorway. He took off his jacket and loosened his tie. Putting one hand in a pocket he said softly, "I haven't seen him so happy in a while."

She nodded, "And you, Sir, how are you? Hastings seems the same, thank goodness."

"I'm well, thank you, Sam. We've missed you, of course." Foyle frowned slightly, as if each word pained him.

"Being away from you…from you all and Hastings has been horrible," Sam said slowly, "I have missed it all so very much." She sighed and continued in voice nearly a whisper, "And now I am going away again…"

"To do a very decent thing. It will be good for you to see more of the world and to get away for awhile." He paused, coming to sit near her. "It makes coming home that much easier."

"Did you find that coming back from America, Sir?" Sam asked.

"Yes, which is why I know this trip will be good for you in so many ways, Sam." He smiled at her, catching her eye.

Sam smiled back and nodded.

"Don't feel guilty," Foyle said kindly.

"But I do, Sir. I feel I am being selfish."

"You intentions may be – to get away, but your actions certainly are not. Isn't helping and serving others a selfless act in part?"

Sam nodded, seeing the sense in this.

Foyle bit his lip, looking out the window. He couldn't bear to see Sam troubled, and he could read her like a book. He knew she needed to go, and that she realised this too, but the anguish she felt in doing so was what needed to be soothed. He could not do that – she had to realise her actions were her own to make. It was time she started living her own life, and not one dictated by her father, her fiancé, or… himself. Foyle sat back with a heavy sigh. He hated when he was right.

They both jumped violently when Andrew came into the room saying, "Right, so what's for dinner?"

"Oh Andrew, you can't be hungry already – you're worse than me!" said Sam in mock astonishment.

Foyle stood, turning and taking in the whole room, thinking that the people he most loved were finally all together. He grinned suddenly at Sam, "Coq au vin?"

Sam laughed, "With the vin, Sir?"

Foyle dipped his knees and said with a smirk, "But of course."

Andrew looked puzzled, just as Foyle had intended. As Foyle turned to the kitchen, he thought to himself, "At least the history Sam and I share will always be ours, and I can carry that with me. I will always have her joyful character with me." He nodded, rather pleased with himself. For once he felt he had _his _Sam back, rather than having to share her with Andrew as _our_ Sam.

Rolling up his shirtsleeves he called, "Miss Stewart, if you would be so kind as so assist me in your father's recipe."

Sam came in followed by Andrew who was looking slightly put out at being left out of things. She breezed past Foyle and went into the pantry. Popping her head out a moment later she said, "I see that cooking for my keep is to become a habit."

Foyle laughed, "Indeed I hope so."

Andrew looked back and forth between the two and shrugged, giving up. Foyle tossed him a tea towel, grinning slightly. "You can be in charge of washing up."

Foyle chuckled to himself as he caught Andrew rolling his eyes.

They sat up talking, as they always did, but tonight the two Foyles were listening intently to Sam. She always had something to say, and Foyle learned long ago to just let her say it. Tonight it was about someone from Uncle Aubrey's parish. He leaned back in chair comfortably, glad to listen and sit quietly. When it was getting late, Foyle stood slowly, setting his whiskey glass to one side. "Good night. Sleep well," he said softly, gazing around at the other two.

Much to his surprise, and certainly to his joy, Sam stood as well and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for letting me stay, Sir."

Foyle nodded, clearing his throat. "My pleasure, Sam." He let himself out, leaving the two young people to themselves.

He lay waiting for them to come up, losing himself in his thoughts. Holding his breath when he heard the stairs creak, Foyle listened carefully. If _he_ were Andrew's age he would try to convince Sam to stay or at least come back to him, and he had no doubt his son would do the same.

"I hope the bed is comfortable enough for you, Sam."

"It will be fine. What about you up in the attic? Won't you be frozen?"

"I've got that little stove, remember? Besides…" Andrew paused, looking past Sam, biting his lip in that way that reminded her so forcefully of his father. He lowered his voice to barely a whisper and Sam leaned closer so as to hear him. "Sam, if I thought it would make any difference I would ask you to stay, but I know that this trip means a lot to you. So, what if I asked you instead to consider something while you are away?"

Sam gazed at him warily, wondering if he was about to propose _again_.

"I would ask you to marry me, Sam, but I feel you would only laugh," said Andrew, as if reading her thoughts.

Sam smiled, "Perhaps."

"So, instead of that, what if we just think about seeing if we could continue on again when you return home?"

Sam took up his hands gently, "Oh Andrew. If I thought we could make a go of it, I would do so in a heartbeat, but I know it would never work. I love you very deeply, but it isn't a love that would carry over into marriage. Can you understand that?" She looked at him carefully, hoping she hadn't hurt him.

"But we are so good together. _Why _would we never work?" Andrew said quietly. He sighed. "I felt it was worth asking, anyway."

Sam nodded, thinking hard. Suddenly she kissed him, pulling him close and letting her fingers run through his hair. Her kiss was eager and passionate, leaving Andrew slightly breathless. When they broke away, Andrew said almost shyly, "What was that for?"

"I need to know something." Sam looked at him steadily, all at once quite serious. "I tell myself that we would never work in the long run, but I do agree that we work well together in general." She frowned, leaning against Andrew, "I keep going around and around in my head, trying to understand why I feel one way and then the other."

Andrew turned her face towards him, "So stop thinking, darling Sam. For once, just let yourself go. It is just me."

"You are never just you, Andrew," Sam replied.

He laughed, thinking what a very Sam thing this was to say. He took her hand and pulled her towards the end of the landing. "Come help me keep my attic warm, Sam."

And for once she let herself be led away, determined not to think. "After all," she said to herself as she followed Andrew, feeling the warmth of his strong hand in hers, "Facing things usually helps."

Her eyes flicked towards Mr. Foyle's door as they passed it quietly. Sam told herself she would deal with the mixed up emotions she had for him later. Tonight was about solving things with Andrew.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Reminiscent - Chapter 7

A/N: Thank you all for sticking out this long winded, complicated story. I am grateful for the comments, and hope you don't mind the liberties I've taken with our favourite characters.

* * *

Foyle was very surprise to find Sam already making the tea when he came downstairs the next morning. The early morning sun caught her hair, making it look more golden than ever. His breath caught in his throat and she looked up.

"Good morning, Sir," she said cheerfully, handing him a cup and saucer.

He nodded and smiled slightly before letting his face return to a questioning look. "Damn it all, why does she have to look so at home here?" Foyle thought, taking himself by surprise. He sipped the scalding tea before putting it down hurriedly. He could see Sam shivering with anticipation and excitement about her journey that evening; with the idea of starting out on a whole new adventure. "Shall we take a walk, Sam? See a bit of Hastings in this light and let Andrew wake up?" Foyle said suddenly.

"What a lovely idea, Sir, I'll just fetch my cardigan."

As she passed him he said quietly, "What did I say about calling me 'Sir'?" They caught each other's eye and smiled quickly.

Hastings seemed to glisten in the sunshine. It was if the town was shivering in anticipation too.

Sam wished she might link arms with her former boss, but refrained. She heard him clear his throat as he pulled his old green trilby down low over his eyes to shade them. "Sleep well?" he asked casually, eyes flicking towards her.

Sam blushed, and said a bit too quickly, "Yes, thank you."

Foyle smiled to himself.

Sam turned in a circle as they walked, "It is one of those mornings, Mr. Foyle, that remind us why we should be glad to be alive. I shall miss this."

"Mmm," agreed Foyle, admiring her rather than their surroundings. He suddenly felt quite young and daring and he quickened his pace to match Sam's. Walking down to the beach they passed shopkeepers setting up for the day's business. It was peaceful and calm, and only the seagulls were making themselves heard. On the pebbled beach Foyle put his arm through Sam's and gave her a smile. "How nice it is to be close," he mused to himself.

"I suppose Andrew has already asked you to think about the future, so I won't," Foyle said slowly, carefully watching each step he took. "And as I have no right to ask, I won't ask you to think of me." He said this with an air of finality that he did not feel.

Sam stopped abruptly and turned to him, "But how can I not – when all I ever think about is you?" She put a hand up to her mouth, as if trying to catch the words before they could be heard.

Foyle gazed intently at her, curious and amused. "You surprise me, Sam. Andrew is a good man, and –"

Sam cut him off, "Forget Andrew for a minute – we've said our goodbyes and know where we stand. What I need to know is where _you_ stand?" She said this with such intensity that Foyle drew in his breath sharply and bit his lip.

Clearing his throat and standing back, he said, "Where I stand?" He smiled somewhat sadly, "I stand before you and beside you, as I have always done, and will continue to do."

Sam frowned, "That's not really an answer, Si-, uh, I mean, well?"

Foyle smiled to see her in such a state. He wasn't sure why it amused him so much, but he touched her cheek softly and made sure she was looking at him. "Call me Christopher if you like. It _is_ my name, after all." Foyle continued, lowering his voice, "Sam, I would do anything for you, and I am never as happy as when you are around, but you must live your life to the fullest, and I would only hinder that."

"You wouldn't, you wouldn't," she cried, rubbing her nose.

"Sam," Foyle said with a hint of authority in his voice, "You will go on this trip and do your bit. Afterwards we can think about…all this." He waved his hand vaguely, trying to find the words. "You must see more of what life has to offer and find out who you are. Isn't that part of why you wanted to get away?"

"Yes, but-"

Foyle stopped her, "We will still be here when you are ready to come back."

Sam nodded, fiercely brushing away a few tears.

"Dear Sam – what can I say that will ease the worries I see on your face?" Foyle pulled her into his arms, letting her nestle her head into his shoulder. He was forcefully reminded of another time on this beach, a lifetime ago – he had hated saying goodbye then just as much.

"I shall write you every day," Sam said with a sniff. She felt a shiver run down her back as Foyle's warm, familiar scent filled her nostrils.

"Perhaps every week would suffice, Sam," Foyle said lightly with a smile, pulling her closer. He kissed the top of her head gently.

They walked back to the house on Steep Lane. The morning felt more subdued and less bright all of a sudden. Foyle squeezed her hand as they walked up the steps. They both put on a good face for Andrew who greeted them with a, "Didn't you get the paper when you went out? I've been waiting _ages_ you know, where on earth did you go?"

Sam kissed him on the cheek, "Good morning, rascal. Don't be silly – you've only just woken up. Not even shaved yet! C'mon, get ready, we're going to enjoy this day before I ship off."

He looked quickly over at Foyle who was busy sorting through the letters on the sideboard. He caught Sam's hand and asked softly, "Do you want me with you today?"

Sam nodded and whispered back hurriedly, "You both are to come." She glanced at Andrew meaningfully and he smiled. He clapped his hands, "Right, what is the battle plan, then, Sam?"

Foyle turned as Sam replied, "Well, the most important thing first: sandwiches or cake?"

"Both!" said the Foyle's in unison, grinning at Sam.

* * *

It had been raining for a week straight and Foyle, for once, was glad Andrew was away visiting a friend. The house seemed to close around him more each day as his thoughts constantly turned to Sam. One year to the day that peace was declared Foyle received a letter. He tore it open, giddy as a schoolboy.

_ May 1946_

_ Dear Christopher, _it read,

_ I am hoping I've timed this correctly to reach you on the commemoration of VE Day.  
We never did have our dance, you know. I hope my last letter made sense – I kept adding to  
it because I kept forgetting to send it, and then I couldn't find a post office, and then more  
things would happen that I wanted to tell you. _

Foyle smiled. He pulled the letter straight and continued reading.

_ As I said in my previous letter, it is fantastic here. The people constantly amaze me,  
and I am ever reminded how lucky we were not to have our country invaded. It is beautiful,  
nonetheless. We have been moving around a lot this week, setting up a sort of travelling relief  
effort. Our group leader is a bit of stick, but his right hand man is a good sort. He is staying on  
for a few more months and said he would keep some of us on. The two girls I joined up with  
(from Uncle Aubrey's village) are staying. We've had loads of fun together. I'm not sure if we are  
meant to be having fun, since this is relief work, but there we are. _

_ How are you and Andrew? Have you been fishing much lately? I'll include an address where  
we can have post sent. They will keep it for us, and we can collect it when we arrive there at the end  
of the month. I think it will be a sort of a base camp from then on for the smaller group. I will be here  
a bit longer. You were right, as usual, and I'm glad. Getting away has been good, but I do think of  
you often. Wish you were here, to be honest. There are so many things I want to tell you and show  
you. I imagine myself pulling you all around to show you the things I have seen. _

_ I hope you are well. Love to you and Andrew, _

_ Your Sam x_

Folding the letter, Foyle put it to one side, staring at it for a moment. He sighed and picked up the rest of his post. An official looking envelope lay on top and he ripped it open curiously. He read it through twice, his eyes wide with disbelief. Suddenly he grinned and re-read the last bit.

_ We believe you would be an ideal candidate for our operational program, currently based in Poland.  
If you choose to accept this offer, you will be briefed at _11 a.m, 54 Broadway Avenue, London, on May 14th.

It was signed by someone with a double-barrelled name, with SIS underneath. Foyle didn't dare to breath for a few seconds. The official seal at the top of the letter shone up at him. He stood slowly, setting the letter carefully next to Sam's. Walking to the window, he looked out at the soggy street, thinking hard. He spent the next hour in a daze, wandering about the house, pouring himself cups of tea, all the while staring into space and chewing his lip.

Standing in front of his desk, Foyle looked over at the two letters lying on the sideboard. He grinned widely, laughing out loud and shaking his head. He finally knew what he needed to do. His pathway forward was clear.

THE END


End file.
